Mishaps of a Delicate Nature
by NastifaceX
Summary: The accidents that happen to Scott's...ehem, delicate place, and how he and Stiles deal with them. A five plus one fic. Scott/Stiles because I can.


**Disclaimer: I don't know who created Teen Wolf, but I do know who I am. What does that tell you? Nothing? That's okay, it doesn't tell me much either, except, maybe, I don't have amnesia. Yay?**

**Warnings: copious abuse of poor Scott's junk, a little language, a little shota, and I think that's it**

**The Penis Progression**

**(or Five Times Stiles Touched Scott's Penis and One Time He Did More Than Just Touch It)**

**Winkie Kick**

"AHHHH! Gen! What have you done!" yelled Scotty as he went down like a felled tree. Somewhere in the back of his panic fogged, ADD ridden brain, Gen (1) felt like he should be yelling "timber!" But, of course, that would be terribly inconsiderate, considering he had just kicked his best friend on the winkie.

It had been entirely accidental, and, if Gen might be so bold, Scotty's fault. He had been the one, after all, to persuade Gen into playing a friendly game of soccer with him. And it wasn't Gen's fault that Scotty had ran in front of him just as he tested out his high kick, no, certainly not.

But Gen wasn't really sure how to tell Scotty as he writhed in pain on the grass that getting kicked on the winkie was all his own fault.

"Umm…does, uh, does your, um, you know, uh…_winkie_ hurt?" Gen bumbled, not sure what else to say. Somehow, in between his pained glares, Scotty shot him a "duh, you giant idiot!" look. Gen winced again, and really wanted to leave it at that, probably even go get his Mom- he shivered to think how Mrs. McCall might react to the knowledge that he had kicked her precious baby in his special place- but Gen was above all a curious eight year old boy, so he simply had to inquire.

"Uh, Does it hurt like a cut or…?" he queried, eager for knowledge. It was a shame Scotty was in no mood to give him some.

"It hurts like a kick to your winkie, you moron! Now, do something!" Scotty's face was alarmingly red, and Gen was at a complete loss as to what to do. Finally, he figured he would have to examine it, to make sure it hung where it should, and wasn't all mashed in like Alice Baker's across the street- ah, now he knew how girls were made!

But this was an alarming thought, because he certainly didn't want any annoying cootie ridden _girl_ as his best friend. Still, Gen thought, if he'd just turned Scotty into a girl, he should at least have the decency to make sure he did it right.

"Okay…take off your pants and undies," Gen commanded. For a moment, Scotty looked puzzled, before he seemed to catch Gen's logic and stripped from the waist down. Gen was immensely relieved to see that everything still stuck out like it should, but he had to make a thorough examination in case it was sucking in even now.

It was warm, likes Gen's own winkie was whenever he touched it, but otherwise didn't seem any different as he careful handled it, making sure to check the tip to make sure no sucking in was occurring. But Scotty was acting strange, his face reddening again, and his winkie got stiff!

Gen wasn't sure what to do with it, so he simply kept rubbing it. Scotty's face twisted up, and his hips snapped forward a little into Gen's hand. They kept this up for a minute or two before Scotty pulled back (2) and tucked his winkie back into first his coveted Spiderman undies and then his cargo pants.

"What was that?" Gen asked as he still eyes Scotty's covered winkie with suspicion. Scotty gave a negligent shrug, already losing interest and picking up his soccer ball again.

"Dunno. I'm hungry. Let's go inside and get a snack. Okay?" He said, seemingly uninterested in discussing or even thinking further about what had happened. At the mention of food, Gen himself wasn't too keen on following the confusing thoughts, so he shrugged to and led the way to his house, mind intent on one of his Mom's yummy PB&J sandwiches and a cold glass of Kool-Aid.

**Groin Heeled Kick**

Gen didn't know how to handle this. I mean, it's not like he did it on purpose, then he could simply apologize and grovel for a bit and thus hope to gain forgiveness. But this had been a complete accident, of course.

Gen was lying on his stomach on his bed, his feet up in the air as read the book his Grandma sent him for Christmas, and was getting quite engrossed in the story. Well, no, that's not quite true. It was more like he was getting completely engrossed in the sheer…_girliness _of the story.

He was seriously beginning to wonder of taking a picture of his groin with the evidence camera and sending it to his Grandma would help her to realize that he wasn't a girl. Though, it's not that he didn't find the sparkly pink sweater comfy, or the pink Hello Kitty plushy cuddly, or the pink tiara dripping in rhinestones regal, or even the frilly pink polka dot apron useful. It's just that…well, really, he was certain they were a tad too feminine, perhaps, for a ten year old boy…or really, _any_ boy at all.

So yeah, you can totally see that it wasn't his fault at all, that he was simply swinging his feet idly as he thought his thoughts. Even though, perhaps if he hadn't been wearing his mother heels, you know, just to see what they felt like, the kick wouldn't have been quite as…painful.

But he was wearing those heels, and Scott had been using his creepy ninja Batman skills to sneak up behind him, and his Spider-sense was malfunctioning at the moment, so…ehem, yeah, groin kick…yeah.

And again, down he went. This time, the urge to call out a warning for falling trees was much harder to suppress. It helped that there was no air in his lungs to say it, since Scott had fallen heavily on top of him. He bore it willingly for a minute or so before gently pushing Scott off of him. After all, it wouldn't do to be rude with the guy he just kicked in the win-groin.

Gen frowned a little to himself, annoyed that he had almost allowed the slip back into baby talk, but he was a big boy now, and he was _not _referring to his groin as _winkie_. And" the special place" felt like a calling beacon to all pedophiles interesting in naïve little boys, of which Gen was firmly _not_ a number, thank you _ever_ so much (3).

But, however you called, err, cut it, Scott's groin had been kicked, and Gen wasn't really sure what was supposed to happen next. He coughed, and Scott let out another weak groan.

"…Umm…I'm sorry, Scott! It was an accident!" He finally just blurted out. He though he heard Scott sigh before his next groan.

"It's okay, you moron, just don't do it again, okay?" He muttered, with the air of a rat fink proposing a onetime deal to a cop behind the Godfather's back. Gen was confused for a moment, before remembering that Scott was grounded this week.

He shot the boy a secretive and thankful smile, before pushing the offending book off the bed and scooting back, making room for Scott and pulling up his blankets. Scott cuddled into his side, and gingerly pressed his groin, which must still be sore, to Gen's side. He felt his own hand dipping into Scott's pants to make sure his groin was still there and not…elsewhere, not that he believed it could get sucked in or anything stupid like that.

"You okay?" Gen queried, worried about his friend's still heavy breathing.

"Hmm, m'fine. Shut up and sleep," he hummed, and so Gen did.

**Between the Legs Grab**

Wrestling, a sport that most young male best friends love to indulge in, is a truly wonderful thing. Perhaps it's a throwback to caveman days, or simply a way of affirming the strength of one's companions, but either way, it is a common occurrence.

Another common occurrence is that someone will undoubtedly get hurt at some point. It's normally nothing dangerous, thank goodness, just a bump on the head, or a black eye or split lip, or a tender rib from particularly vicious use of a sharp elbow. But somehow, on that fateful sleepover- in which no sleeping would likely occur until early morning- a different kind of injury was sustained, if you would call it such.

Well, truthfully, Stiles wouldn't call it an injury, per se. It was more like he grabbed Scott…ah, between the legs. Again, it wasn't purposeful, not really, it was just pure animal instinct. It was just the simple workings of his lizard brain. Even though the thought that his lizard brain was what led him to grab Scott in, ehem, such a delicate place, was something he really wasn't ready to concentrate on at the moment…or ever.

No, what he was concentrating on was his best friend, as he should, seeing as this was his awesome best friend that gave his awesome new nickname- when he finally realized that "Gen" was a girl's nickname- and also the awesome friend who would totally, hopefully forgive him for brutally grabbing and squeezing the first thing he could get his hands on to ensure his immediate release. It sure ensured it alright.

"Ssssh, damn!" Scott hissed as he held a bag of frozen peas to his poor abused…ehem, between the legs area. Stiles eyed the peas and decided quietly that his father didn't need to know what other purposes they had served before he made his famous split pea soup with them.

"Look, I am so, so sorry, man! I totally didn't mean to, uh, um, do…_that_ to you," Stiles quickly muttered his apology, his cheeks, still agonizingly round with baby fat, flaming up. Scott's cheeks mirrored his own.

Idly, Stiles though of how strange it was that they couldn't control their blushes whenever anything, ah, between the legs related came up. Of course, it's not like he didn't know what the "special hug" (4) entailed now, I mean, come one, he's a twelve year old boy with access to the internet. But still…

Somehow, before he really knew just how to handle his, um, between the legs…place, it seemed pretty clear cut and non-totally-embarrassing. But those days were over, and he and Scott blushed like Japanese cartoon porn school girls every time the subject was alluded to (5). And didn't that just bring up an interesting picture of Scott in school girl costume and…oh. Looks like he had a sudden hankering for the special hug.

He then noticed Scott's sheepish but still rather intense stare at his...meeting of the legs.

"Um…wanna…compare?" Scott cleared his throat and studied the bag of peas pressed to his leg junction with complete and utter fascination. And Stiles, well, he was whipping it out almost on autopilot, as if his gene code had just been waiting for this particular question to be asked so it could send direct instructions to his limbs and bypass his brain altogether.

Scott quickly dropped his peas and whipped out his own…ehem, so yes, now they were both out. Neither of them quite dared to pull out a ruler, but after shoving them together- and hmmm, that felt nice- and using the eyeball technique, they figured Scott to be about an inch longer, fully…extended. Stiles felt he should have been more jealous and less inexplicably hungry for something other than food.

He cleared his throat, tucked himself back in, and offered a game of COD. And that was that.

**Balls Nick**

Stiles was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to laugh. Okay, scratch that, he _knew_ he wasn't supposed to laugh. But seeing as he had no idea what he was supposed to do, he just laughed. Because really, he was as anxious to grow pubic hair and be manly as any other fourteen year old, but he was _not_ anxious enough to try to shave the few strands that he had.

He knew the story of "shave it and more comes back", but really, really? Stiles covered his ginormous grin with one hand and tried not to snicker too loudly. Scott still glared at him like he'd slapped his grandma.

"Dude!," he hissed venomously, "This is _not_ funny! I cut my balls! I fricking cut my fricking balls!"

"Dude!," Stiles yelped back, barely holding it in, "You cut your balls! You fricking cut your fricking balls! In what universe in that _not_ funny?" Stiles was pretty sure Scott was pouting a bit now.

"In a universe where you actually care! I got shit there that don't need cutting! What if I did something? Oh gosh, what if I can't have kids! Great day, Stiles, what if I can't fricking _procreate!"_

"Relax, dude! You just nicked yourself shaving. I'm sure there's no way you just forfeited the ability to donate sperm, " Stiles soothed. He may or may not have choked on his tongue trying to suppress laughter.

"How sure?" Scott asked suspiciously. Stiles tried to smooth his lips into a reassuring smile. He was failing miserably.

"Pretty darn," he managed before choking back a giggle. Scott glared again.

"Well, look, at least check it, okay? Make sure no blood is gushing?" he muttered, and Stiles was finally able to scrape up enough sympathy for his pathetic looking best bud to help him out.

He got out a flashlight, hydrogen peroxide, a cotton swab, and some Neosporin + pain. The he sat his still pouting friend on his computer chair and spread his legs. Stiles tried his best to be quick and efficient with his treatment, but, well, he was still paying close attention to Scott's balls, and he seemed to like that, if you catch the drift. Stiles hummed a tune from MarioKart and tried to ignore it. Scott stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore it too.

But it seemed to like Stiles' hands too much, and by the end of the treatment, both boys knew from experience that this was not something to ignore. Stiles grunted as he got off his knees and began to put away his supplies.

"…Yeah, you might wanna head to the bathroom and take care of that. We can watch _The Phantom Menace_ after," he offered, trying to herd the giant elephant in the room out without stepping into any piles of shit. Scott nodded awkwardly and headed to the bathroom.

When he came back, both boys were sporting flushed cheeks, but they said nothing and popped in the DVD.

**Dick Catch**

"Oh my _Lord,_ you have _got_ to be kidding me!" whisper/hissed Stiles as he stared in disbelief at his best friend, who was at the moment frantically shaking his head.

"No, dude, no, I am most definitely not! I need help!" he whined. Stiles shook his head a couple times and blinked, trying to process the situation.

"You've got your _dick_ stuck in your damn zipper and you can't get it out?" he asked, just to clarify…for the fifth time.

"Yes, a thousand times yes, now help me!"

"What the hell do you expect me to do? Gnaw it off? Seriously, dude, your _dick _is stuck in your _zipper!_ I think the only possible course is to…oh fuck, I don't know, oil it, maybe?" Stiles huffed. Then a thought came to him.

"Scott, why the heck aren't you wearing boxers?" His eyes narrowed at Scott's guilty expression. His best friend scratched the back of his head, facing the floor in shame.

"Well, I heard that Whittemore went commando at school, and I couldn't let him get me on this, Stiles, I just couldn't!" he exclaimed vehemently, his big puppy eyes pleading with Stiles to understand his plight of eternal one-up-manship with his school rival. Stiles sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose like his dad did when Stiles accidently blurted during meatloaf on Tuesday that he liked dick.

"…Scott…I am going to strangle," he cut himself off and paused to think, "…okay, here's what we're going to do. I am going to go make sure all the guys have left. Then, I am going to call my friend, Nurse Edward. He is going to tell me how to get my stupid friend's dick the hell out of his damn zipper, and we are going to go to our respective homes and act like this never happened. Sound good?" he was almost snarling as he came to the end, and Scott nodded meekly.

"Okay. But how do we get to your Jeep without anyone see-" Stiles' mighty glare cut him off mid word.

"Put your damn gym bag in front of your dick and follow me," he ordered and strode out. Scott hurried to grab his bag and comply.

"The things I do for you…" Stiles muttered under his breath and he buckled his seatbelt and shot a glare at his cowering friend, who shot him a weak grin. Stiles thought over the situation again before snorting in laughter.

"First I kicked it, twice, then I grab it, then you cut it, and then you get it stuck in your fricking zipper. It's a wonder if the damn thing will still work!"

"Don't say things like that!" Scott admonished as he protectively cupped his dick. Stiles snorted and started the car.

**+1. Cock Fuck**

"Oh my gaw! Scott Alexander Stuart* McCall! You are _not_ sticking that-that-that _thing_ into my ass! Oh Lord, no wonder Allison broke up with you. Damn, I'm breaking up with you too!" Stiles cried out. Scott huffed, his cock stiff and leaking precum onto his tanned abs.

"Stiles! It's not a " _that-that-that thing"_! It's a knot, and a perfectly normal part of my werewolf anatomy!" He tried to explain. Stiles was having none of it.

"It may be a perfectly normal part of your anatomy, but it sure ain't gonna find a perfectly normal home in my ass, no sir! I will do anything with that thing, _except_ stick it up my fucking asshole!" Stiles immediately knew he shouldn't have said that, seeing the evil gleam that glinted in Scott's eyes.

"Alright, you evil bastard, what is your dastardly plan?" he questioned warily, eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.

"It's simple, Stiles. You either fuck it or suck it. Which will you choose?" Scott's smirk was pure and unadulterated _evil,_ Stiles knew, but still, he couldn't contain his choked gasp and gape at his words.

"Fuck!" he murmured, still in shock.

"Fuck it is then," Scott replied with great enthusiasm. And that was how Genim Stilinski found himself on his hands and knees, with Scott McCall balls deep in his ass.

To tell the absolute truth, he can't remember their first time very well. It was all a mass of possessive groping hands, dripping sweat, deep canine growls and embarrassing high-pitched whimpers, and mind-blowing _pleasure._

He does remember thinking that maybe Allison was actually good for something, cuz Scott sure knows his stuff.

And afterwards, as they lay cooling down on the sheets, Stiles shared a few Eskimo kisses with his brand new boyfriend and huffed out a laugh on his swollen lips. Scott cracks open his eyes and stares adoringly at his mate.

"What?" He asked as Stiles settled closer against him.

"Hmm, oh, it _definitely_ still works!"

-_fin-_

**AN: Well, chickies, I decided that no author's repertoire is complete without both a 5 + 1 fic and an all-nighter. And aren't y'all some lucky chickies, cuz here it is at 2:20 in the damn morning! Ugh! I wanted to stop, but I knew I was on a roll, so here we are, two hours later. Fuck!**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, cuz I know I did! I just feel like there isn't enough hot Scott/Stiles lovin' out there. Of course, this didn't turn out to be all that much hot lovin'. *Pouts* Oh well, c'est la vie.**

**Anywho, notes time!**

**(1) Can I just say, cute little nicknames for cute little guys? Scotty and Gen FTW!**

**(2) I imagine that while they can get hard, they don't ejaculate and soon lose interest. So, yeah, I have no idea if this is completely realistic or not, since my younger brother is asexual, so please don't kill me in my sleep if I'm incorrect.**

**(3) Stiles is an extremely precocious child, and I imagine he looked more into his father's cases than he probably should have at that age.**

**(4) I was never given the "special hug" version of the sex talk, but I find it extremely hilarious and couldn't help adding it in.**

**(5) Again, I'm no expert on child development, but I know, for me, my crotch went from being whatever, not important, to the most embarrassing place on earth, so yeah, I'm projecting onto the characters, shut up!**

**(6) I have no idea what Scott's middle name(s) are, or if they even exist, so I made up my own.**

**There. And I'm sorry there was no juicy sex scene, but I just really don't think this story needs it. It's more of a…I dunno, not character study, or even sweet fic, it just…doesn't need a really detailed sex scene, you know? But if anyone wants to write it, feel free, just please let me know so I can tell people as well as read it myself. **

**Ciao, mi amors!**


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